


Facet

by Madarao_the_Authoress



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Anorexia, Depression, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, More tags and characters to be added, Non-consensual sex, Physical Abuse, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Slow Build Probably, Verbal Abuse, anger management issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madarao_the_Authoress/pseuds/Madarao_the_Authoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Banner wants to be a nuclear physicist; well, he's got the first part down pat. There's no way anyone could be as unstable as he is. And then he meets Tony Stark, son of Howard and Maria Stark, heir to the Stark Enterprises empire of weaponry and destruction. A killer before his time. But the only person in danger from Tony, is Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something About A Stark

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this came from. It just popped into my head. This is also my first work in this fandom. It's AU, so expect the characters to be-- well, out of character. Feedback appreciated. I'll probably add more characters and tags in the future.

There was something about a Stark. Maybe it was the way that they held themselves; they had money, and they knew it, and they could crush anyone that stepped into their paths. Maybe it was the way they could silence a person with a mere glance. A sharp look from a Stark could mean death, in any imaginable form of the word. Maybe it was the way they could make a genius feel like an imbecile, simply by sweet-talking circles around him. 

But there was something more about this Stark. It made him more human. It made him more puzzling. It made him a wonder of the world. 

It made him untouchable. 

And at the same time, he looked so vulnerable and fragile. A single gust of wind could blow him away. A tap too hard could shatter him to pieces. A well-placed look could send him crumbling down. 

Bruce marveled at him from across the courtyard. Eyed the way he moved like walking on air, like he owned the place. And maybe he did-- who knew what money had bought him in this life. Eyed the way his chosen attire carefully- ever so carefully- hid his shape, his skin. Eyed the way he perched himself carefully on the arm of the bench, and leaned against Obadiah Stane as if the man were a brick wall-- there to support him when he stood, but entirely unreachable. 

It wasn't as if he knew who Tony Stark was. Sure, he had seen him around campus, and he always seemed wistfully oblivious as he floated along beside his boyfriend, Stane. But seeing around and knowing were two different things, and Bruce couldn't recall if they had ever said so much as two words to each other. 

But Bruce had seen him, and more than that, he had seen the way Tony's friends looked at him now. There was only one way he could describe that expression; James and Virginia looked at him as if he was dead, and what stood in front of them was merely an empty shell, posing and having its strings pulled for a beautiful facade of humanity. 

And who had killed Tony Stark? 

Perhaps they would never know. And perhaps it was so obvious that it was staring them in the face. 

Rapid movement at the bench tore him from his entrancement and the aspiring nuclear physicist blinked his eyes a few times, then reached under his glasses to rub at them. When he had finally managed to clear the blurriness away and readjust the frames on the bridge of his nose, Obadiah had Tony up from where he'd been sitting; the grip he had on the young genius' arm looked bruising, but the Stark didn't seem to notice, so maybe it just looked that way. They spoke quietly for a few moments, Tony nodded vaguely, and then took a drag of the cigarette that Stane pressed to his lips. 

For a few moments after Stane had strode briskly off, Tony stood by himself in the grass, knee pressed to the concrete bench, before pulling out his own pack of cigarettes, lighting up, and turning to lope absently across the grass. 

Looking for company, of course, because he could no longer bear to be alone. He needed someone there to keep him in line, to tell him when he was fucking up-- to take care of him, to keep the voices away. 

So he sat at the only occupied table in the yard- Bruce's- and cocked his head absently at him.

It was striking, truly, how beautiful a corpse could look, and Tony looked very much like one. His skin, while still tan, had taken on a sickly tint. His lips were pale, as if they did not get enough blood flow, and chapped like he had stood in the wind for too long. His eyelids were streaked with obtrusive veins, and the skin under his eyes were bruised and wrinkled in bags, as if they were carrying tens of sleepless nights. 

Long fingers lifted the smoldering cigarette and he took a drag, held it for a moment, and then slowly let the smoke drift out of his mouth, so that it spread and dissipated into nothingness. And Tony, with his skeletal fingers and depthless eyes, looked like he might have wanted to go with it. 

“Heard you're pretty smart.” 

Bruce started when he actually spoke. It was rare that the other student ever spoke. He would drift between tables and sit, and stare, and never say a word. Why him? “Uh-- I get pretty good grades, I guess...?” 

Tony hummed, and his eyes drifted to the grey clouds above, as if he weren't sure what, exactly, to do with that information. Then he sighed and tilted his head to the other side. “I mean you're smart.” 

“I-- I just agreed...?” 

The billionaire-to-be rolled his ice blue eyes to the sky and let out another huff, this time tinged with more cigarette smoke. 

Bruce thought about lung cells slowly drying and rotting and shriveling up and falling away until there was nothing left to filter air but a small, raisin-shaped, black mess of tar and regret. 

“I wanna take a look at your research.” 

Bruce arched a brow. No one was supposed to know what he was working on, besides his professor. But then again, perhaps he shouldn't be too surprised. Tony seemed to know everything-- and at the same time, he seemed to know nothing at all. “I've no idea what you're talking about.” He closed his text abruptly, ready to leave so as to stop the conversation in its tracks. 

Tony leaned against his palm, slumped against the table like his body could no longer hold its own weight. He looked at Bruce with dead eyes and a face that betrayed no emotion (perhaps there was no emotion to betray) and shook his head. “Then I want to talk.”

The scientist laughed softly. “I'm sure your friends are more interesting than me.” 

“Rhodey and Pepper don't speak science.” Tony deadpanned, and took a final drag from his cigarette. Taking a long look at it, he dropped it into the wet grass and crushed it beneath the toe of his scuffed, dirty Converse. “You speak science.” 

Bruce considered for a moment. There wasn't much time for this; he had an appointment with his counselor in half an hour, and it would take at least twenty minutes to walk there. He liked to be ten minutes early to everything, if not more. So he sighed. “Talk to me tomorrow, Stark. I've got places to be and people to see.” 

Tony breathed in air like it was the last lungful he would get and let his eyes skitter around. “Okay.” he accepted easily, and made a mental note to do so. His interest rested with science, and with Obadiah; nothing else mattered, and nothing else would matter. Not until he took his last breath. 

Bruce nodded and started off, sure that the rich boy had been messing with him because he came from-- a more modest background. At least, that's what everyone assumed. No one knew about Brian. No one knew about Rebecca. Not here. Only his counselors, his aunt and uncle, and the cops that had worked the case. 

Or maybe Tony was just high. He always acted like it. He was distant and aloof and-- not at all there. 

For now, he brushed it off, readjusted his bag, and quickly pieced together the quickest route to Mr. Northcott's office in his mind. The sessions were always tiring and mentally trying, but at least it gave him a safe place to vent, to get his feelings out in the open. Sometimes, it felt like the anger inside would build and build and build until it ripped him apart from the inside out, leaving behind the tattered remains of a patchwork quilt that had never gotten quite finished. 

Brian had contributed his fair share- all blacks and blues and greys, all puke yellows and vomit greens. Rebecca had added her own contributions- splashes of rose pinks and sunny yellows, splotches of lilacs and baby blues. And then Aunt Susan, who had been a mother to him, with her fierce love and protection, had weaseled in fire reds and burning oranges, dark purples and midnight blues- most importantly, greens. Greens like new grass, glistening with dew in the early morning sun. She had allowed him a new place to start. A new life to lead. New love to enjoy.

Sometimes he felt like he squandered it, when the anger got the best of him, or the depression at the loss of his mother dragged him into deep, bottomless, cold pits. But then she would wrap him in a nice, big, warm hug, and rock him back and forth, and whisper that everything was okay and that he was doing wonderful things with his life now. 

And that was that. Aunt Susan would never replace his mother. But she didn't need to, because she was enough all on her own. 

-*-

There was something about a Banner. 

Well, there was something about the Banner, seeing as Tony only knew one Banner, and that was Bruce. 

But anyway, there was something about a Banner that his tired, tattered mind stuck to and roped in. Mingled and twisted tendrils with. An appealing something, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Often, he found himself musing over it. Wondering. Was it the mystery peeking out from beneath his surface? Was it the way he held himself- as if he was too small for his own skin, but at the same time, had strength and fierce emotion rippling beneath his surface? Or perhaps it was just that he was smart. Most people, Tony considered far below him. In any way the word could be taken, really. Rhodey and Pepper got a special spot, because they were something special. 

And of course, Obadiah did, as well. The older man worked for Howard Stark, and when things had gotten especially bad between Tony and his father- so bad that even Jarvis couldn't protect him alone- Obadiah had been there. To shove off the offending hands and mute the harsh words and make everything better. To make him feel like he mattered and that he was everything in the world. 

Plus, Obadiah helped him. Tony had never known what it was like to be normal, but Obie did. When he did something wrong, the older man punished him, so he would remember, and put him back into line. He took charge. That was what he needed and wanted. Obadiah had assured him of that. 

So it puzzled him, as to why he found his eyes drifting absently towards the other student, when he had a perfectly good man here to care for him. Why the harsh hand on his hip couldn't bring his attention back to Obadiah, even as it tightened hard enough to bruise- to cause the old ones to ache, to add bruises on top of bruises. 

It wasn't until he heard his name that his eyes shifted from Bruce to the bald man sitting beside him, though his head never moved. He blinked to show he was listening; Obie liked for him to be quiet. At all times. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Tony let out a soft sigh. He sighed a lot nowadays. His lungs didn't seem to have such a good relationship with the oxygen they were supposed to provide. But then again, he didn't seem to have such a good relationship with the life he was supposed to be leading, either. So maybe it all worked out. 

“The clouds.” he answered wistfully. It was a lie. And it was stupid to lie. Obie always knew when he lied. And he hated to be lied to. 

Before he could even wrap his thoughts around the fact that maybe that was a bad idea, the grip had moved from his hip to his arm, thick fingers wrapping around the entirety, and he was up on his feet with a sharp pain in his shoulder and a dizzying headrush. 

He blinked the black and rainbow dots away as Obadiah leaned closer, and growled, with sharp cigarette breath, “You think you can lie to me, Tony?” 

The billionaire-to-be gazed up at him dumbly for a moment before shaking his head. “No, sir.” 

“What were you looking at?” 

Tony inclined his head bonelessly towards where Bruce was sitting. “Him.” 

“Why? You thinking about cheating on me? Do you really think anyone else would take pity on a pathetic whore like you?” Obadiah snarled through his teeth, spattering spittle against Tony's cheeks. His grip tightened tenfold. 

Tony didn't seem to notice anymore; his senses were so dulled from years of abuse, even pain didn't feel real. “Of course not. You're doing me a favor.”

“That's right.” The grip loosened and Obie smiled that sickly sweet smile that Tony had always fallen for. Then he offered a cigarette and the young Stark took a drag. “I've got to head to a meeting. Go home. I expect you to be ready for me when I get back.” 

“Okay.” 

Obadiah was gone before the word left his lips, because he knew the student would follow orders. He'd been conditioned to be spineless; first by Howard, then by Obadiah himself. 

Tony stood, silently, dull eyes watching the retreating figure as the harsh bite of cold, unforgiving stone tried desperately to bring him back down... down... down... 

He couldn't get any further down. 

Blinking, he reached behind himself, fetched his own pack of cigarettes, and lit up, before turning to let his legs carry him wherever they wanted. And of course, those legs- those terribly traitorous, aching, shaking, weak legs- carried him to the closest form of companionship possible: Banner. They knew, probably just as well as anyone else did, that he was nothing if he was alone. Someone else had to be there for him to think anything, to feel anything-- to exist. 

His tired body dropped limply onto the bench, fell against the table where Bruce's books rested. This skin-- this fat-- it was too much for the weak, fragile bones to carry all their own. He understood; they deserved their break. Rubber bones refused to hold his head, his shriveled mind, his dead thoughts, up any more, and his neck bent. It would look as if he was tilting his head in question; it was just too much effort to keep it up. 

A reason. He needed a reason to be here. Probably. That was what people did, right? 

The bite of smoke clawed its way down his throat, tore at the inside of his lungs, before drifting back up and spreading out harmlessly into the air. Regret sparked, buried quickly by its brother-- jealousy. 

He could disappear. 

“Heard you're pretty smart.” Instead, here he was, scrambling for reasons to keep a companion. To still exist, even if it seemed meaningless. 

His voice startled the other man. Unsurprising. The young Stark was known for wandering aimlessly and inserting himself into groups without saying a word; people were just glad to be seen with someone famous. And he was just glad the outside noises helped distract from the screaming inside. 

“Uh-- I get pretty good grades, I guess...?” 

An understatement. A scoff tickled his throat, then quickly skulked back to die at the empty pit that was his stomach. A small hum took its place, to buy time at much less effort. Ice blue eyes rolled to the sky, stared through a cloud for a few moments, and then a small sigh chased the hums out; the rubber bones forced their way into the opposite direction. “I mean you're smart.” There was obviously a difference; everyone knew it. Grades had nothing to do with a person's intelligence. 

“I-- I just agreed...?” 

Eyes twisted up to the sky again, paused, came back 'round, and after a drag of chemical, the billionaire-to-be huffed out a smoke-tinged breath. Because this was basic stuff and it wasn't that difficult to grasp. “I wanna take a look at your research.” Nevermind the research. He just wanted someone to be around. It seemed like Rhodey and Pepper avoided him like the plague now. All he had was Obie. All he needed was Obie. But Obie-- Obie was gone right now. And he felt empty. Hollow from his toes to the split ends of his hair. Dead. 

Not unlike usual. 

“I've no idea what you're talking about.” 

A lie, if he had ever heard one. And he had. Many times before, actually, but those were besides the point. Resting his elbow against the table, Tony dropped his chin into his palm and shifted his weight against the table; his bones ached and screamed from doing their jobs all day. He wanted to lie down. “Then I want to talk.” His eyes slowly lifted to Bruce-- Bruce, this time, not the grey clouds. 

Bruce's laugh was music. Much better than what he usually listened to. It sparked a heat in his chest. The heat flickered out quickly. “I'm sure your friends are much more interesting than me.” 

Idiot. “Rhodey and Pepper don't speak science.” Obviously. One last drag and the cigarette was reduced to ashes, smushed and crushed under the toe of his shoe. In a position so very familiar it ached in the hollow abdomen that threatened to cave in on itself. “You speak science.” Again, obvious, but maybe all of this needed to be spread out straight for him. 

The sigh let him know that he had been defeated. It was a resigned sigh. But it was also dismissive. “Talk to me tomorrow, Stark. I've got places to be and people to see. 

Tony's empty stomach dropped down down down... out of his toes and sunk into the grass and mud. At least something would get nourishment. He took in a deep breath, as if the air was necessary to fill the gaping hole left by the hasty retreat of the shriveled intestine, and let his eyes skitter around quickly, in search of a new conversation partner. 

No one interesting. 

“Okay.” And he would not forget. Because he wanted to talk science. And he couldn't get that anywhere else. 

He sat there long after Bruce had left. Until the sun sank low, and teased him through the trees, and the voices grew... grew... grew... until they were too many and too loud to bear. Too late. There would be harsh punishment for his lateness, as well as his defiance. 

There was nothing left in him to fear that punishment. His fire had died long ago, despite Jarvis' best efforts to keep the small flicker of a flame going. So many people had stifled it. So many more people would. And he was too tired to keep fighting it off, to fight anyone new off. It wasn't as if the others were wrong; he was useless. He was a poor excuse for a Stark. There was nothing he could do right. No one else would want him. He was a failure. And he didn't deserve the air he breathed or the food he (didn't) eat or even the skin he wore.

So the next morning, he tiredly covered the bruises as best he could, pulled long sleeves down over criss-crossed mismatched arms and tried to hide a limp. Adjusted his collar to cover the finger marks around his throat. 

But nothing-- nothing-- he did would remove the feeling of the hands, the feeling of the blade, the crushing weight of his worthlessness, the hollowness in his middle, the knowledge that his weight on this Earth was too much and the poor planet might get knocked out of orbit if he so much as stepped wrong on its surface. If he put on even a milligram more. 

Exhausted, he pressed the tips of skeletal fingers to his temples and rubbed... rubbed... rubbed... in small circles to soothe the ache. The smallest of sounds- even the quiet tap of his shoes on the stairs- sent a sharp pain straight through his head, dizzying him, and his stomach ached in a way that made him hunch over it. He drank a glass of water at the kitchen sink, swallowed a couple of Advil with it, and sighed as the clink of the glass against the counter plunged a knife through his temple, straight through his frontal lobe. The day had just started, but it already seemed like it couldn't get any worse.

And then the phone rang.


	2. The Immortality Theory - Debunked

Yesterday had been-- well, everything had gone the opposite of how he had wished. The encounter with Stark had left him on his toes, his nerves sparking and misfiring, close to the surface. Even now, the smallest touch could set them off. And his therapist, of course, knew just how to weave her way under skin; she had prodded the live nerves with sharp needles, and he'd cracked. 

No longer could Bruce pride himself on being the cold, impenetrable bastard he had been so careful to keep up the facade of. Not to her, at least. 

Tired, with his hair still a disaster area and his shoes already coming untied, the young adult shuffled his way to the kitchen, poured himself some cereal, and downed it with coffee, the morning news playing in the background. It made everything feel less lonely, empty, quiet. Not that he listened. Or cared. 

Until he heard the name. The one name he should have been used to hearing on the news. But never for this purpose. Not ever. 

Stark. 

Only partially interested, at this point, his eyes lifted to the television screen. Then his whole body jerked, spine becoming a straight line and shoulders arching back so the blades nearly touched. What he saw was impossible. With the Stark name came a-- sort of immortality. They were untouchable. They would live forever.

Except they hadn't. Because there was a car on screen, ripped entirely apart, smoke twisting up into the air and playing, winding together, as if two souls drifting up up up away... And Howard and Maria Stark were dead. The headline said so. Their bodies were nowhere to be seen. 

It seemed everyone had to die. Someday. 

The thought ended his appetite. He tossed the rest of his food and left. The university would be havoc today. He just knew. 

Except it wasn't. It should have been. Tony Stark went here. But then, perhaps, he wasn't here at all. Because if he was here, then there would surely be reporters converging, trying to break their way past security as one giant, overpowering wave. 

It was a relief to Bruce, at least. He hated crowds. 

-*-

Numb. There should be pain. Everything should hurt. Should ache down to his very center. But nothing did. Not even the soft brush of Pepper's fingers against his cheek registered. Her barely-controlled, shaking voice was muffled before it reached his eardrum, as if wads of cotton had been stuffed into his ear canal. 

All that existed was the strong back in front of him, pushing the way through reporters so he could get out of the masses, and into the quiet, and right where he needed to be. A sob was ripping its way up his throat, and clawed over his tongue and out of his mouth when he lost sight of the strong back. It returned, briefly, and his hand shot out, bony fingers wrapping tightly around the fabric and allowing it to pull him through the tide-- forward forward forward...

Freezing air battered his cheeks, his nose filled with the sharp, nauseating odor of saline and he was free. He could breathe. 

Tony tried and found that no-- no, he still couldn't breathe. 

Pepper gently removed his fingers from the shirt, and Rhodey turned around, gently patting his cheeks to try and get the ice blue eyes to focus. A couple of blinks didn't help too much, but he was able to bring himself back to the present enough to listen. 

“Tone, I'm gonna go talk to a nurse, okay? I'm going to see if I can get you in to see Jarvis.” When no answer came, he gently tapped Tony's nose. Blink. “Okay?” 

Vaguely, Tony nodded, and then his eyes skittered away, around to all of the people-- shuffling like ghosts or running like white rabbits-- late late late... The ghosts, flitting around and through, floating above the ground. 

Everything was a blur. Nothing made sense. There were too many people, and there was too little air, and his legs wouldn't cooperate when he was led, however gently, to a room. A room where a broken, unconscious Jarvis lay, as pale as the sheets and walls surrounding him. The lacerations stood stark red. The bruises blared ugly greens and purples and blacks and blues. The casts-- the casts looked too big. 

He knelt next to the bed and sobbed until strong arms pulled him close, and muffled his agony against a broad chest. 

-*- 

It had been easy to forget about the terrible news that morning once he'd arrived at the university. It wasn't, after all, like a high school. Word still traveled, but he himself tended to stay out of the loop, and focused on his work. Numbers and algorithms danced through his head, and against dark eyelids whenever they closed. Reaching up, he removed his glasses and rubbed them tiredly. 

It was loud. So terribly, terribly loud. It had to be, of course. This was the most popular place to eat on campus, and the most convenient. The convenience was, of course, the only reason he was here. Because it was loud. And he felt outside of himself. And his skin was crawling. 

Just as he was about to stand, a redhead perched on the edge of the chair across from him and dropped a carton of fries on the table. Natasha. Right. They were supposed to meet by the fountain and come eat. Clint twisted the chair beside her around and straddled it before stealing one of her fries. 

She shot him a glare, then picked one up and gestured at Bruce with it. “Must'a missed you at the fountain.” 

“I'm sorry, Nat--”

His friend's thin shoulders rose and fell. She was thin, but in a lean kind of way. The kind of way that hid muscles and strength and effortless grace. He knew she could shatter a man's heart with a glance, and his bones with a little more. “Say no more. We know your head's up in the clouds.” She dipped a fry in some ketchup and bit off the end. 

“Hey. You hear about that Stark guy's parents?” Clint asked, crossing his arms over the back of the chair and leaning forwards against them. “Say his dad died immediately. But his mom-- Man.” He shook his head. “Said she was crying for him while she choked to death on her own blood, and that Tony refused to come to the scene. People say he's only in it for the money now. Just another spoiled little rich boy.” 

“You should know not to listen to what rumors say.” Bruce scolded softly, but he thought about it. It wouldn't be a far jump. Tony wouldn't associate with anyone he believed to be below him-- which was pretty much everyone.

“Yeah, but that's not the point! They say he's not coming back anymore. And you know this place gets a shitload of money from him. 'Tasha's not seen him all day.”

The redhead rolled her eyes and licked ketchup from her lips. She had a couple of classes with the guy. “He just lost his parents, Clint.”

“And perhaps you should not make dinner conversation out of those grieving?”

Clint rolled his eyes at the scolding and slid over to make room for Steve and his boyfriend, Bucky, to sit down. “We don't even know if he's grieving, Captain Etiquette.” And made a show out of ignoring Bucky's piercing death glare. 

Natasha nudged him to shut him up. “Steve's right. We should assume, for now, that he is.”

Bruce shook himself physically. This was too much. Too much talk. It reminded him too much of when his mother-- “Can we-- change the subject?” Too much too much too much. He bit the inside of his cheek until hot, copper blood sparked his taste buds. 

Conversation quickly deteriorated into mindless chatter about Natasha's upcoming show, Clint's forthcoming tournament, and the fact that Steve and Bucky would soon be leading the football team to yet another victory. 

And Bruce-- well, Bruce thought about his lost mother, and wondered how Tony must be feeling. Losing a parent wasn't easy. Losing two-- he imagined that was even worse. But he wasn't sure about all of these rumors that he was hearing from Clint. 

He frowned and sipped his juice. 

-*-

Rhodey had a black eye. 

Rhodey had a black eye. That was not at all how it was supposed to be! Nothing was making sense, still. Last thing he could remember before realizing Rhodey had a black eye was the other man keeping him upright as he tried to regain control of himself-- tried to stop sobbing because of Jarvis. And then Obie arrived and Rhodey had a black eye and Pepper had her hands over her mouth in shock and the beeping-- the beeping-- 

Obie dragged him to his feet by his upper arm and pulled him close. “Stop blubbering. You're not a child, Anthony. People die all the time.” 

“Bu-- But Jarvis-- Obie--” Tony gasped, trying to turn his head away to look back at the man who had practically raised him. But Obadiah grabbed his chin and forced his gaze back. 

And then he surprised himself. 

His hand came up and slapped Obadiah's away. “Get out.” The words slipped between his clenched teeth without his conscious approval. “Right now.” And he left it there and turned away, but not before he saw the look in Obadiah's eyes. 

That look meant he was in for hell. Hell that, surprisingly, would come later. The businessman grunted, turned on his heel, and stomped out of the room. 

There would be new bruises waiting for him at home. New marks to his body. New ways to make him suffer. And he looked forward to it, because he deserved it for speaking to Obadiah that way. But-- But Rhodey hadn't deserved it, and for now, he had to avoid their eyes as he went to curl up in a chair beside Jarvis' bed. 

Though he shouldn't have-- though he didn't want to-- he shut them out. The last thing he needed was their questions. So he just watched around his knees as Pepper tried to help Rhodey with his eye, and he gently pushed her away, whispered something to her, and disappeared. 

The beep beep beeping put him to sleep. 

-*- 

For once, it was the sound of soft whispers that awoke him, and not the loud noises that meant Obadiah was getting ready to leave. His neck was absolutely killing him, but the rest of his body was only a dull ache. 

He lifted his head-- 

Jarvis was awake. 

Jarvis was awake. There was never any doubt that the man would wake up-- after all, he was only sleeping because the pain medicine had knocked him out. But still-- he was awake! 

Tony vaulted out of his chair and covered one of Jarvis' cold hands in both of his bony, freezing ones, half on the bed and half off of it. “J-- J--” 

“Shh, Tony.” Jarvis smiled slightly at him, and reached up to gently run fingers through his hair. Soothingly. Slowly. His breathing slowed in response. His eyes drooped low. “It's okay. You're okay and I'm okay.” 

“Mother-- Father--” 

“I know, Tony.” 

“The company's mine, Jarvis-- What am I supposed to do? I'm still in school-- I can't even--” 

“Tony, calm down. We'll figure it out. I promise. But now is not the time. I need to recover. You need to recover.” Jarvis took a deep breath, then grimaced because he had a broken rib or two. “And we have to plan their funeral.” 

Tony stared at him until Jarvis' face swam in his tears. 

His life wouldn't get better any time soon; he just knew it. 

-*-

There was more information on the news that night about the Stark tragedy. The family's butler had been involved in the crash; he was the only survivor, escaping with surprisingly minor injuries-- broken ribs, bruises, gashes, a concussion, and a fracture in his right tibia. Tony hadn't even been on the scene. There was footage of him arriving at the hospital two hours later, looking like a ghost, and being carted along inside by Rhodey and Pepper. He hadn't emerged since. 

Obadiah Stane had been the only one associated with the family to speak on air about the accident so far. He was the one that they had called first. After listening to him speak for several moments, Bruce had wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned the television off. 

Stane had always set his teeth on edge. There was just something about the guy, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. And while he didn't know Anthony Stark at all, he had decided that he couldn't have the best taste if he chose to keep company with such a creep. 

It was disgusting, and he was glad he hadn't actually had to keep their meeting. 

Maybe he wouldn't have to ever, after this. Tony would probably have to be busy with Stark Enterprises and funerals and-- well, who knew? Clint may have been right, and he wasn't going to return to the university. 

It was impossible to study with all of this running through his mind, try as he might. The highlighted words in his text ran together and mixed to form new words. New words that made no sense when he tried to string them together. 

Finally, frustrated, he slammed the book closed with a loud bang against the table, brushed his teeth, and went to bed. 

Tomorrow couldn't be any more frustrating than today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter was mostly filler. I needed some crap to happen to Tony. There will be more interaction between Bruce and Tony in the next.


	3. Stark: In His Place

Jarvis was better. Fine. Not better. They still had him on some serious shit so he couldn't feel what hurt. Tony wished he had some. Everything hurt. Even though Obadiah hadn't been around to make his life hell the previous night. The old aches, he supposed. On top of being just-- tired. He had slept in the chair for the night, curled up, his neck in a bad position. It was stiff. His body as a whole was nearly unresponsive, it felt. 

But he didn't tell Jarvis that, and the older man insisted that he could manage on his own, and Tony should attend classes, if he was able. 

They both knew Tony couldn't care less if Maria and Howard were dead. 

So there was nothing to stop him from attending. So he sighed and stood up, intending to go straight to class and ignore everything and everyone. Not change his clothes. Not grab his laptop. Not his notebook. Cigarettes in his pocket. That was all he needed. 

“And Tony?” The young man turned halfway in the door frame. “Please don't go back to him tonight...”   
Tony licked his lips. Pepper. She must have told him, before she left. Or Rhodey. He wasn't sure if his best friend had returned after nursing his nose; everything had gone to hell. Well. More to hell. “I have to, J.” he answered softly, and closed the door behind him. 

Cold wind. Bright cameras. Loud voices. 

Awareness. 

All of it hurt this time. He fished his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. They couldn't see his eyes. That meant he felt nothing, in their eyes. 

Ducking his head, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and trudged along until he found his car. The one Rhodey had driven to the hospital, because Tony was nearly catatonic and couldn't just walk away with the press surrounding the place. 

No way they could keep up. So they let him go. 

And so did he. 

His head hit the back of the seat. His mind drifted. His body worked on autopilot. Though he was unsure when it had happened, a part of his mind had developed that allowed him to drive, without him being entirely there. 

It was a godsend. 

It was going to kill him. 

He was okay with that. 

The car slid smoothly into a spot. As if on its own. As if a ghost were operating it. And that wasn't all that far from the truth. Everyone knew he was dead. Even he knew that he was dead. He just didn't know how to break the news to Jarvis, or how to just-- stop playing alive. The shitty job he was doing of it. 

For a long time, he simply remained reclined in his seat, thinking about a cigarette but not having the strength to actually get one out. His eyes drifted closed slowly. His brain felt as if it were slowly expanding, pushing on his skull. It would shatter soon. He was sure. But not soon enough. 

So what could he do but wander into class, plop down in a seat in the back, and stare at the teacher, hoping that all of the knowledge being forced into his brain would finally-- finally-- cause his brain to implode, and he'd get that long slumber he oh so needed and craved. 

He just wanted to sleep... 

Rhodey was in the class. A bruised, swollen eye made its way to him; it appeared his nose hadn't taken the brunt of the hit. That was all he could focus on. What a shiner. Fuck Obie for putting it there. They were fine on a face like his. A face like a Stark. A Stark face deserved it. A Rhodes face? Not so much. 

Tony tilted his head against his fist as Rhodey stared down the guy in the seat next to him, then slid into the recently vacated spot. The professor wasn't paying attention. Never was. It was easy to get away with-- well, almost anything. 

“You can't go home tonight, Tony. Not to someone like him.” 

Rhodey and Pepper had been begging him to stay away from Obie for years. Ever since they found out how he was treated. But they always received the same answer-- an answer that they were terribly unhappy with. 

“He's what I got, Rhodey.” And that was the truth. Sure, he had Pepper, and Rhodey, and Jarvis. But-- his friends had no obligation to stay, and now that Jarvis was no longer the Stark's butler, neither did he. Obie took care of him, though. Obie knew how the company worked, and had been helping him to learn the ropes; he would continue to do so, now that the company was Tony's. Obadiah was the only person who would stick with him now. Now when he needed him most. Now when he was so lost. Now when he just wanted-- out. 

“You got us, Tone.” Rhodey looked so very, very earnest when he spoke. 

Tony watched him quietly for a few moments. His eyes surveying. Scanning. Contemplating. Worrying. Then he put on a smile that didn't touch his hollow corpse eyes and shook his head, before turning to look out of the window. “Yeah. I know.” he whispered wistfully, and watched on as the wispy clouds drifted slowly in front of the sun. 

James might have said something else, but Tony was too far gone into daydreams of a burning road running away under thick rubber tires. 

So of course he didn't notice the quiet redhead, turned in her seat to watch what transpired between the two. 

And, no surprise, it didn't take long for the news to travel around her little group that Stark wasn't taking his parents' deaths very gracefully, or for Clint to start haughtily defending himself when Steve smugly pulled an 'I told you so' dick move. The guy might have had better morals than anyone else they'd ever met, but he wasn't entirely perfect. 

Bruce received all of the messages in the span of a few seconds, seeing as his phone had been turned off during a lab and had just been turned back on, as he walked the parking lot, keys jingling in his free hand. His divided attention as he read through said messages was why he almost-- but not quite-- missed the figure lounging on the hood of the car parked next to his own. The scent of cigarette smoke hit him first, and he looked up to find Tony Stark. Long frame stretched across the hood of his car. Back against the windshield. Head tilted back. Eyes gazing dreamily, lazily upwards. Smoke twisting and turning and withering away as it made its escape from his lips.

Why it would ever want to escape, he was unsure. But then, he hadn't really thought that, either; he didn't think that way. 

“You promised me science talk.” The soon-to-be-- well, he supposed now-billionare's head rolled onto his shoulder, and his cloudy eyes found Bruce after a moment. 

“Wh-- what?” Bruce was caught off-guard, having been entirely distracted by thoughts of Stark that he was totally, most certainly not thinking. 

“Other day. You and me. Science talk. We agreed on a raincheck then, but I'm cashing in on it now.” 

It sounded like words were a challenge to Tony. Like they all jumbled, trying to get out of his mouth at once, but once they had the chance-- he lost the energy. In fact, he looked like he never had the energy. For anything. 

How they were going to talk science when Tony could barely manage simple words that toddlers knew-- that was beyond him. 

“Look, Stark--” 

And then Tony gave him this look. A look that he hadn't been aware that face could make. It was so sad. So defeated. So-- “Please.” That. Pleading. 

Somehow, he couldn't say no. So he sighed and pushed himself up to sit on the hood of his own car, facing the other male. “Yeah, alright. We can talk.” 

Tony didn't waste any time. He didn't even start with questioning Bruce about the gamma research he was currently involved in-- that he wasn't supposed to be involved in. When he spoke like this, it was impossible to think of him as the quiet, fatigued guy that people usually saw. He was no longer the spirit that floated by, drifting in and out of everyone's lives and conversations here on campus. 

Here-- now-- There was life in Tony Stark. He spoke with his hands. Gesturing wildly. His eyes moved, as if reading over equations on an imaginary blackboard. They glittered. In a way that Bruce had never seen them do before. He could barely stay still, and he didn't smoke once. Even after the sun had set, Bruce could see his white teeth shining in the light from the posts around the lot. His movements and words flowed perfectly together, and if one just watched-- didn't listen, just watched-- well, it might look beautiful, graceful. And at the very least, he was terribly passionate. Like the only thing he lived for anymore, was this-- was science. Was talking about science. Was finding kindred souls who also spoke science. 

Was finding someone who didn't scoff when his voice dropped low and, with mischief in his eyes, breathed new life into plans for artificial intelligence. 

And Bruce learned something that day, when Tony leaned close and whispered what he believed to be the mistakes in previous attempts at artificial intelligences, as if it were a well-kept secret, under wraps for years and never to be revealed. 

Two somethings, actually. 

The first: Tony Stark did not believe himself to be above anyone else. He believed that he was lower than dirt. Less worthy than the dirt under the shoes of even the most vile, atrocious human beings this planet had to offer. Truly believed it-- not just said he did. Because he never would admit it. 

The second: Tony Stark was afraid of his own intelligence. His ideas, as much as they excited him, also terrified him, and he would never so much as try and bring them to fruition. He would replicate the work of others, but never do anything worthwhile himself. 

And this was because he thought himself so low. He didn't believe his ideas were worth anything. Didn't believe that they actually made sense or were possible. 

So Bruce did the only thing he could think to do, upon realizing this. He smiled, despite himself, and leaned closer to Tony. And just like when Tony confided small secrets of intelligence to him, Bruce whispered, “You're going to change the world, Tony Stark.” 

Tony stared at him as if he were the most beautiful creature in the world, theories on miniaturizing existing technologies dying on his tongue as electrical shocks lost power in his brain. No, those electrical shocks began firing to a different part of his brain, and his fingers and toes tingled, and his nerves lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. There were little fireworks in his eyes, and the ice blue broke up to reveal that no-- no, it wasn't frozen water. It was the sky, peeking out from between dark storm clouds. 

Bruce thought that the most beautiful creature wasn't in front of Tony. It was sitting right across from he himself. Tony Stark. Because he looked like perfection in the moonlight. 

Then the moment was shattered when Tony's phone vibrated on the hood of his car. The name on the screen smothered the spark that had brought the young genius back to life. The live wire disappeared. 

The corpse took its place. 

Bruce wanted to smash in the skull of whoever could take that blinding smile away. Whoever could dump ice water over the flame that shone so brightly in those blue sky eyes. Whoever could break up the fireworks show and leave dead, grey ashes in its place. 

“I have to get back home now.” The fatigued slur had returned to Tony's voice. The words no longer came so easily. His movements looked terribly slowed as he returned his phone to his pocket and slipped off of the hood, as if each muscle twitch caused him immense pain. As if his body didn't have the energy to obey. The billionaire glanced around and pulled his jacket tighter on his body, as if just noticing for the first time the chilly wind blowing past them, between them, around them. Through him.

His frame was so small. 

“Thanks for talking with me, Bruce.” The smile he gave was a ghost of the one he'd previously worn. It held nothing true. It was barely there. Just a faint twitch up of one side of his mouth. 

“Yeah. Anytime.”

It wasn't until the car engine had roared to life and the vehicle had torn out of the parking lot that Bruce had the state of mind to regret not giving his phone number to the guy. After all, he looked like he'd been walking to his death. Maybe he needed a friend... 

The aspiring gamma scientist shook off such thoughts. Tony had friends-- Virginia and James. If there was an emergency, he could call them. They would certainly know how to deal with such a situation better, seeing as he and Tony had only known each other for a few days.

If there was a next time, he promised himself, then he would get Tony's number. 

-*- 

The past three nights, Tony had been late, failed to come home at all, and been late again. There was severe punishment waiting for him as soon as he opened their apartment door. Not only did he know that, but Obadiah had promised it in the text message he'd received while talking to Bruce. 

Even after feeling so alive and free for those few hours, he still found that he couldn't summon the fear he used to have at knowing there was a beating coming his way. 

This was, after all, something he deserved. Obadiah was the only one who would give him the time of day. Who would be there for him no matter what. And Tony, the ungrateful little slut he was, had neglected to arrive home early enough to make sure dinner was ready, and that they could have a nice romp in the sheets-- all in time for Obadiah to get to bed at a proper time, seeing as he had to get up for early morning meetings all the time. No. Instead, Tony had been sitting on his ass in a school parking lot, sharing impossible ideas with someone who was way too good for him. 

Those words rang in his head. Or maybe there was actual ringing from where Obadiah had slammed his head into the wall. Everything was so messed up. He could see rainbow dots and smell blood and hear chimes ringing. He felt blood trickle from his nose-- where he'd been slapped across the face upon entering the apartment. 

He had learned long ago to stop expecting warnings-- he had been taught that warnings only came to those who deserved them, and he had slipped even lower than that. 

Tony sniffed. The blood dribbling over his upper lip tickled. He didn't want to taste the copper. Obadiah grabbed his face and he felt his cheeks rubbing against his teeth as he was pulled up, and around to face the older man. 

“You been fuckin' around with other guys, Tony?” Alcohol was fermenting on his breath. His eyes narrowed and glared holes through Tony. 

“N-- No--” His voice was muffled, because Obadiah was smushing his face. But he didn't dare try to move away or out of the grasp. That would just make Obie even more angry. If that were possible. 

Obadiah sneered, and knowing that Tony was relying entirely on him to stay upright, he abruptly let go of the genius. Dark eyes stared coldly down a sharp nose as the younger man hit the floor. To rub salt in the wound, he reared back, and kicked him right in the stomach. A satisfied warmth tingled and grew in his own abdomen at the strangled gasp and following wheezing. 

There was something so, so right about putting a Stark in his place. About seeing him on the floor. Curled up in a ball. Cowering, because he couldn't defend himself. His family produced weapons that protected the whole country. And yet, Tony couldn't keep himself safe from one man. 

He deserved this. And everything else that came to him. 

Kneeling down, he traced gentle fingers along Tony's jaw. “No one else would give you the time of day, would they?” he asked, sickeningly sweet. 

Tony shook his head jerkily, still trying to remember how to breathe. Still trying to get his body to cooperate. He had managed to take in one proper breath before fingers wrapped around his throat, shoved him against the wall, dragging him up it until he was standing on the tips of his toes. 

Air fought to get down his throat and into his lungs. Not much made it. Unable to help himself, he clawed at the hands around his neck, but it did no good. The hold just tightened. 

“Show me how much you appreciate my kindness, Tony. And maybe I'll forgive you for forgetting dinner.” 

Tony heard the sound of a zipper sliding down. He couldn't even be bothered to feel dread or disgust. So he just allowed himself to be used. That was all he was good for: A body to fuck. 

And the next morning, he took extra care to try and hide the bruise across his nose. Nothing to do for the busted lip. 

As if anyone would care. But appearances were everything, and he wasn't going to show up with more bruises than he had to. 

Never, would he ever, allow himself to vulnerable to the outside world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I start classes again tomorrow, so I figured I'd get one more up before that took over my life. I'll write when I can, but I probably won't update quite as often. (As much as I enjoy writing this.)


	4. Stark: Absent

The next two days, Bruce looked everywhere for Tony. Before, he had wanted absolutely nothing to do with the young man; sure, he was gorgeous and smart, but he didn't want people around him. But after their conversation, he just wanted more of what Tony had to offer. More conversation, especially. Then he didn't show up and Bruce thought he might have done like Clint had said-- stopped coming, because now he had a business to run and a fancy new life to lead with Obadiah at his side. 

But the second night, as he was watching the news, he saw footage of a funeral, and it was the Stark funeral, because Tony was standing at the podium, and he looked like he hadn't slept for years and hadn't eaten for even longer and-- he just looked like he'd given up on a world that had long given up on him. While Bruce was sure that his eulogy was beautiful and everything that one would expect a Stark eulogy to be, he didn't actually listen to it-- for the most part. Until, of course, he heard Tony stop. Then he looked up from his homework in time to see the young man drop his face into one hand. 

There was a flurry of camera flashes, and uproar of voices. He saw Tony's lips move, but couldn't hear the words they formed, and then the young billionaire was stepping down and stumbling towards a man in a wheelchair. 

That was where the footage cut off. 

It answered some questions-- like where Tony had been for the past two days-- but raised others. Most importantly, what had he said? He had seemed so composed... What had caused him to break? In front of all those people... He could never imagine Tony letting himself do that in front of cameras. It just-- it didn't seem like him. Sure, he seemed to float around like a ghost, but when the cameras turned on, so did his killer smile. (Except for that time at the hospital, but that was a traumatizing event, to be sure. Everyone excused him for that; at least, he did.)

This time, he quietly closed his text and pushed it away before leaning back into his couch and turning the television off. For a while, he stayed there, staring at the blank screen. Then he got up, brushed his teeth, and went to bed, because his mind was swimming with the images of Tony-- breaking down on that podium, smiling on the hood of his car, staring into space on a concrete bench, reaching for James' back as they pushed through a crowd of reporters to get to the front doors of a hospital-- and there was no way he could study like that. So he didn't even try. 

Besides, sleep was supposed to be good for him, according to his therapist. 

~*~

After some quick deliberation, Tony and Jarvis had decided to set the date of the funeral for that Friday. That had been Thursday morning, and he skipped class the next day. They both wanted it out of the way as quickly as possible, but he was sure that no one wanted it over and done with as much as he did. 

Funerals weren't nearly as difficult to plan as one would have thought. Especially when one cared naught for the dead. 

Coffins and flowers and venues and shit. Howard and Maria already had their plots. Tony just had to deal with the wake and the pretty decorations. Jarvis had helped; he was surprised, because he had been under the impression the man would hightail it out of his life when his employer bit the dust. But Jarvis had just lightly tapped his nose, and told him that family didn't abandon family, and then helped him pick out stupid flowers for his so-called parents. 

It had actually been a pretty nice evening. 

The wake on Thursday was painful-- standing by his parents coffins and listening to people as they walked by. Saying such nice things about the shitty man and the awful woman who had supposedly raised him. It had nothing on the funeral, though. 

Having to stand and try to formulate words for eulogy about people he absolutely fucking despised, in front of all those people who were only there for publicity. And he found himself unable to actually do it. To actually stand there and spew lies about how great and wonderful and kind and giving his parents were. 

So he didn't. 

And he could claim that it was grief that sent him down from that podium and into Jarvis' arms. 

It wasn't, but he could claim that to the press. That didn't mean Obadiah bought it, and of course, Obadiah wasn't happy with him for showing such weakness. Why couldn't he just say a few nice words? Why couldn't he put up a front? Why couldn't he at least pretend to be strong? Had he taught Tony nothing? Howard was right. He was the same weak, sniveling little brat that he had always been. 

That weekend was worse than it had ever been. The choking and the beating and the shoving-- His shoulder had been dislocated and his throat held bruises in the shapes of fingerprints and his eye was nearly swollen shut and-- and there was no hiding all of that. He could hide the bruises on his ribs from Obadiah's boots-- no problem. But he couldn't hide a limp and a swollen eye. No makeup in the world could fix that. 

Besides, he'd twisted his ankle when Obadiah shoved him down the stairs to the basement level. There was no walking straight, even if he could hide the black eye. But he did do his best on the bruises at his throat. 

Sometimes, he wondered why he stayed with Obadiah. It didn't take very long, in these moments, for him to remember why: Because he was such a fuck up that no one else would even give him a second look. Obadiah was doing him a favor by staying with him. Obadiah was the only one who would put up with all of his shit, and try to teach him how to live in the real world. 

No one else would ever love him like Obadiah did. 

~*~

The weekend was agonizingly slow. Saturday was spent studying, like most Saturdays. Sunday was different. He went over to Clint's to play video games, and Natasha beat all of their asses-- of course, because whenever they played video games, either she or Clint dominated. Unless Steve and Bucky made them play stupid football games. Then they had the upper hand. 

They ate cold pizza for dinner and crashed in various positions about the living room later that night. Thor was, thankfully, in such a position that his snoring did not shake the walls and send the roof caving in on them, because Loki was the only one who could actually sleep through that. 

The next morning, Bruce woke up kind of disoriented, but then he realized his glasses had just been knocked off while he slept. And Natasha was gently poking his foot. He grabbed his glasses, slid them on his face, and looked around. Loki was still passed out across Thor's lap, and Steve and Bucky were asleep and holding hands because they were disgustingly adorable like that. Clint had disappeared sometime during the night and still wasn't back; probably in his perch. It appeared only he and Natasha were awake now. 

“What?” he asked, because she had been poking his foot. 

“We have to wake the others.” She was leaning from the chair, against the arm of the couch, where he was half-lying, half-sitting. 

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Why'd you wake me up first?” He would have much preferred to continue sleeping. 

“I figured I should inform you that there's a running bet between us all about how long it'll take before you and Stark fuck each other's brains out.” 

Of all the answers he could have received, that had been last on the list. Bruce stared at her, unblinking and then blinking way too many times per second, for a few moments before he coughed. “Uhm. Excuse me?” 

She shrugged. “I just thought you should know.” 

He kept staring at her. 

Finally, the redhead sighed and shook her head. “Honestly, Bruce, you should have expected this when you told us about your romantic, moonlit science chat.” 

“Just because we talked, doesn't mean we're gonna bang.” 

Natasha snorted a laugh. “Huh. Yeah. Okay.” 

“Besides, he has a boyfriend.” 

“Like that matters.” 

“It does.” Bruce wasn't a big fan of cheating, or helping anyone cheat, or cheaters in general. 

Natasha sighed and tapped the arm rest of her chair, glancing over at the TV; it was still on, with the game paused. “He doesn't look too happy, though, does he?” Before he could answer, she stood gracefully from her seat and walked soundlessly out of the room; presumably to find Clint and wake him. 

Bruce let out a sigh and dropped back against the couch, glaring up at the ceiling. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he was more upset about: That they had made this stupid bet-- and he had no doubt that they truly had-- or that it wouldn't actually happen. He could admit he wanted it to happen, if only to himself, because Tony was smart and interesting and definitely attractive-- even despite looking like he was practically already dead. Bruce could see under all of that. But the point still stood that Tony was with Obadiah, and they had been together for quite some time now, and there was really no point in thinking that they might break up soon, because Tony seemed pretty content to stay right where he was. Besides, the man had just experienced a lot of major, traumatic changes in his life-- parents dying and all that. He probably wasn't in the market for any more. 

Which was fine, because Bruce wasn't sure he could handle a stable relationship, anyway. It had been 347 days since an incident-- nearly a year. It was the longest he'd gone, and that was a good sign, but he was still afraid of snapping and hurting someone. Relationships could be really stressful, and he didn't want to wind up having an episode and accidentally hurting someone. Especially someone like Tony, who had enough shit going on. 

A sleepy snort to his right gained his attention, and he gladly stepped away from his thoughts, looking away from the ceiling. It was Thor, who was still half-asleep and who smiled goofily in his direction without really opening his eyes. “The toaster pastries are secured. The bilgesnipes learned of the mighty power of Thor on this night.”

Thor had an obsession with poptarts-- especially the strawberry ones-- and Norse Mythology. That last part was no surprise, seeing as he was named after the Norse god of thunder. They all found it quite funny, actually, except for Loki, who would resort to practically begging him to stop talking half of the time. 

And whose hand shot up now to cover the mouth of the other man. “Silence, oaf.” 

But Bruce smiled and nodded his head. “Good to hear, Thor.” 

While Thor tried to gently rouse Loki, who had fallen back to sleep and was truly a nightmare when woken up improperly, Bruce pushed himself up from the couch and walked to the other end, where Steve and Bucky were leaning together, sound asleep. Bucky was always easier to wake up, and he was much more pleasant, anyway. It was usually the opposite, but Steve did not like to be woken up. 

So Bruce gently shook Bucky's shoulder-- the one that Steve wasn't resting on-- and the dark-headed man's eyes fluttered open. “Hey, it's time to get up. Can you handle Steve?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “He's not that bad.” 

“He's basically the spawn of Satan, Bucky.” 

“That's 'cause you wake him up wrong.” Bucky lifted their twined hands and gently kissed the back of Steve's, before gently dragging his lips slowly up the other man's arm. 

Bruce faked a gag and turned away. He'd brought his bag of school stuff to study, and he had a change of clothes in his car. For emergencies and other such purposes. Thankfully, because he didn't have time to go back to his apartment before his first class. 

“I'm headin' out, guys. I've got class in a bit. I'll see you at lunch.” Bruce announced to the room as a whole, and was greeted with bounding footsteps down the hall. 

“So you can meet your boyfriend~?” That was Clint, in his teasing, sing-son voice. Which Bruce was not particularly fond of, for this exact reason. 

He rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Clint. Right back to your fuckin' perch.” After throwing a half-hearted wave in their direction, he left the apartment and went down to his car, which was waiting for him in the lot behind the building. Before he left, since the lot was empty, he went ahead and changed into his clean clothes, and then stared into open space for a few minutes. 

~*~ 

Class had been boring. Before he had even attended a class, he had been under the impression that it would be fun. Turns out it usually put him straight to sleep, no matter how hard he tried to stay awake. At the end, he drowsily stood from his spot and meandered out of the room. He had a while before the next one, and even longer before lunch; as far as he knew, none of the others were free to sit around and talk. 

That left him with a few boring options, and of those, he chose the most productive one: To sit on a bench outside and study. It was pretty cloudy out today, but he didn't think it was going to rain any time soon. With that hope in mind, he wandered to courtyard. 

There, sitting on the same bench where they had first spoke, was Tony Stark. His face was turned mostly away, and his shoulders were hunched as if he were trying to curl in on himself and he was wearing a thick hoodie even though it was warmer than it had been last week. The hood was arranged oddly around his throat and he kept tugging at it, as if he were trying to hide something. His hair wasn't gelled to hell, as it usually was; at least, that's what Bruce assumed, as it appeared to be flat and lying lifeless against his forehead. His knee was bouncing. 

Bruce approached, trying not to be too quiet, but also trying not to make enough noise to spazz the other guy out. He set his backpack on the table, which caused Tony to look around at him. His face-- was not what Bruce had expected. His left eye was swollen shut, his lip was busted, his nose wasn't looking too pretty. It might have been broken; the skin across the bridge definitely was, and it was bruised a sickly green. 

Startled, he came around and reached up to gently catch the other man's chin, so he could properly survey the damage. Before his fingers even made contact, though, Tony shied away, flinching so violently he nearly hit the table behind him. 

Bruce's hand dropped. 

“Tony, what happened?” He tried not to sound as concerned as he was, but he wound up sounding a little more pissed than he had meant to. Sure, he was so livid he could rip off the head of the guy who'd done this to Tony, but he didn't want Tony to know that. 

“Bar fight.” The answer came a little too quickly to be true. 

“You're not twenty-one.” he argued, arching an unimpressed eyebrow at the other student. There were rumors that Tony was already borderline alcoholic, though, and he didn't doubt the guy could buy his way into-- well, anywhere. 

“Like that means anything.” The billionaire snorted and waved him off-- and then tried to hide a wince. 

Bruce sighed and sat back. “Did you at least go to the police?” It wasn't like he believed the story, but he had no proof that it wasn't true, so he was just going along with it, anyway. 

Tony twitched at the mention of the police, then started playing with the ends of his sleeves, tugging them further down over his hands and rubbing the fabric between the heels of his hands. “It was my fault.” 

He leaned back against the table and glanced up at the cloudy sky, then back over at his bruised companion. “Somehow, I really don't believe that.” 

“It was--” 

“Tony, you don't look like you're capable of even hurting a fly.” 

At that, the Stark shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked away, but he raised his chin up into the air. 

“Yes, well. As true as that may be, I now own the world's foremost leader in advanced weaponry. I'm more dangerous than I look.” His eyes cut over to look at the other man, but he still looked unconvinced. 

Throughout his life, Bruce had gotten very good at knowing when he was being lied to, and he could tell that this was one of those times. Still, he just shook his head. “Whatever you say, Tony.” 

“I was wondering-- uhm-- I thought you might be here. You seem to like to study here.” 

Bruce arched a brow. 

Tony flushed faint pink at the pale hollows of his cheeks. “I-- That's not as stalkerish as it sounds. I promise.” 

“It's okay, Tony. Keep going.” 

“Well, uhm-- Obie's out of town. Got some big meetings, y'know, what with what happened--” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you wanted to-- I dunno. Hang out?” He didn't like being alone anymore, and he didn't want to intrude on Jarvis' home life, and Rhodey and Pepper-- well, he wanted to get closer to Bruce and that was the end of that. 

He expected laughter and taunts, but all he got was a small smile. 

“That sounds nice.” So they discussed when their last classes were, and made plans to meet at Bruce's car because Obadiah had taken Tony's, and the Stark gave him a small, slightly shy smile before limping off to his class. 

The smile made his heart flutter. The limp made his skin crawl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people were probably starting to think I had abandoned this story. I had not. I got swallowed by academics, because I have to keep my GPA up to keep my scholarship. I also started and scrapped this chapter three or four, maybe five, times before finally settling on what you see before you. But I told myself I was going to finish it tonight before I went to sleep and I finished it tonight before I went to sleep. So I'd say that's a win. I'm definitely trying to take my time with this story; I don't want it to feel too rushed, but if it feels like it's dragging, please tell me? I'm trying to make it feel like real life. 
> 
> Also, for anyone who hasn't seen it yet, Age of Ultron is pretty great.


	5. Stark: Behind the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fluffy filler chapter before I probs ruin some lives. Idk. We'll see what happens. 
> 
> I've also just recently realized that my italics aren't saved when I copy and paste like a dummy, and I overuse italics, so I feel this takes away from the story. Just imagine everything in italics and that might be good enough.

Thirty minutes late. When they were making plans, Bruce had warned Tony that he might be a bit late-- five minutes, ten tops. His last class was a lab; they tended to run over. He had known this. But he hadn't expected a chemical spill and sopping wet hair and missing their meeting by thirty minutes. (This thirty minutes did not include the ten he had added for error, and warned Tony about.) 

In layman's terms, the Stark probably was now convinced that he had been stood up and he had probably left. Not that Bruce would blame him. That was exactly what he himself would have done. But he wasn't patient and he wasn't popular; he probably would have been stood up. Somebody like Tony, however, didn't get stood up. That just didn't happen. And he hoped the young Stark realized that and waited around for a bit instead of skulking off. 

Although that probably would have been preferable to the sight that greeted him. Tony was perched near the front of the hood of Bruce's car, and Natasha was sitting nearer the windshield, her whole butt on the hot metal and one leg brought up, folded with the boot underneath her opposite thigh. And they were talking. Now, normally, this wouldn't have been such a problem, but after Natasha's revelation about their friends' bet earlier in the day, he didn't trust her so near the person that was his supposed “object of affection.” 

His steps lengthened and quickened. 

As he got closer, though, all he heard was talk about an upcoming show that the two of them would be in. Natasha's eyes cut over to him, and then she smiled at Tony. 

“See? I told you he'd be here. Those labs can take forever. We've been left waiting on him for an hour or more before.” she told her companion, who looked up and over to Bruce. A shyness clouded his eyes and he looked down where his feet were dangling, toes tilted together. “He's a fucking geek.” She slipped off of the hood of the car as Bruce stopped by it. Once her back was to Tony, she scowled. “He was about to leave when I spotted him, dumbass. At least text him next time.” Then she gently pushed his shoulder as she started walking away. She threw a wave over her own shoulder to Tony. “Have fun, boys~” 

Bruce could hear the teasing lilt in her voice as she made her exit. Worried at what she might have said, he slowly turned towards Tony, who was still looking at his shoes. 

“That's the first real conversation I've ever had with her. She seems really nice.” Tony stated, as he slowly pushed himself from the car's hood to stand on his own two feet on the warm pavement. “I thought you weren't coming. But she told me you were just running late and offered to sit with me until you showed. I guess she wanted me to believe her that badly.” He was watching her slowly shrinking figure now. 

“I'm really sorry. I just got really caught up in lab and I lost track of the time and I didn't even notice everyone leaving and--” He stopped, and his eyes got really big and serious, like what he was about to relay was of the utmost importance. “I would never stand you up, Tony.” 

Tony blinked, surprised at the response, and then smiled slightly. “I believe you.” 

For a few moments, they stood in silence, and Tony rocked awkwardly back and forth on his feet as Bruce cleaned his glasses. The guy had adorable red lines all across his face from a pair of stupid lab safety goggles; he found it endearing. 

“So, I was thinking we could grab some pizza and go to my place-- I mean. Not my apartment.” The place was a disaster. Not only from all of his work stuff being strewn around, but Obadiah had gotten pissed the night before; stuff had been thrown and smashed and all the bits and pieces were still lying around. He hadn't had a chance to clean up. “I was thinking we could set up camp in the manor's living room. Got a big TV and everything.” A bunch of his stuff was still there-- video games, consoles, movies-- all crap that Obie wouldn't allow him to bring to the new space. 

Bruce arched a brow. “I didn't know that was what you had in mind.” 

“I don't like going out much.” Tony shrugged. “Cameras follow me everywhere. Especially now.” That was the entirety of the truth. It was part of it, sure. He hated the cameras and the constant paparazzi presence and especially the stupid-- and usually overly-personal questions-- that were thrown his way. But people in general made him nervous, with their expectations and their gazes and his bruises and his body weight. It just wasn't worth it. “You don't have a problem with that, right...?” 

Quickly, Bruce shook his head. “No, of course not! I mean-- I understand entirely where you're coming from-- Well, obviously, I've never experienced it, but--” He trailed off and took a deep breath, annoyed at himself for letting his tongue run away from him. Some of the annoyance dissipated upon seeing the small, amused smile quirk at Tony's lips. “I like staying in, too.” 

Tony glanced up at him quickly, before his eyes darted away. “But you have so many friends...” 

Bruce shrugged and unlocked his car doors, tossing his backpack carelessly into the backseat. “You've got James and Virginia.” He gestured for Tony to get in the passenger's side as he himself opened the driver's door. 

It wasn't until they settled that Tony spoke again. “Rhodey always seems to be so busy with his military stuff, on top of his classes. And Pepper's gotta work, too. Her internship is crazy; her boss absolutely runs her ragged. We hang out occassionally, but I feel bad asking for them to do it more often; they need their rest.” That wasn't the entire truth, either. It also had a lot to do with the fact that Obadiah didn't allow him to leave the apartment very often, apart from going to class. Often, he even had to turn down their offers to spend time together, much to his disappointment. 

Bruce smiled slightly over at the other man, but then turned his eyes back in front of him; it was very important to watch the road while driving. Unless one wanted to die, that was; then they could look wherever they damn well pleased, he supposed. “You really care about people, don't'cha?” He leaned back in his seat, settling down for the drive to his apartment. “I'm gonna go drop my books off and change. I got chemicals all over these.” he responded gesturing to his shirt and jeans. 

“Grab some extra clothes while you're in there.” 

The quick, questioning glance he got made Tony blush, and he looked down to where his hands were folded in his lap. He probably deserved worse than a mere questioning look. After all, he had been very hasty, and honestly, he had presumed way too much. “I mean-- I was thinking you could stay over tonight. If you want to, of course.” The manor was pretty out there, and he was sure that Bruce didn't want to drive back if it got too late. But he could have been wrong. 

But the other student just smiled as he pulled into his apartment parking lot. “Yeah, alright. I'll pack a bag real quick. You wanna come up?” he asked, squeezing into a rare spot near the front doors. 

“Uh...” Tony glanced up at the building. He didn't really feel like walking, especially if they had to take any stairs. But he found himself nodding. “Yeah, I'll come with you.” he responded, as he followed Bruce out of the car and into the building. Turned out they didn't take the stairs. The elevator ride was quiet, and the walls were reflective, so he just watched the other man; which was how he knew that he was being watched, as well. It made him blush. 

The apartment was about halfway down the hall. Tony's knees were shaking so badly by the time they stepped inside that he immediately took a seat in one of the chairs around the table when they entered. “This is a pretty nice place.” 

That earned him yet another arched eyebrow; he was beginning to fear those, as they always meant he'd said something wrong. And he often received said eyebrow in response to whatever he said. At least it wasn't a literal slap to the face. “Please. You're used to much better.” 

Tony shook his head, then realized Bruce had stepped into another room and couldn't see him shaking his head. So he cleared his throat and spoke up a little louder. “Not really. My apartment's pretty similar to this. A lot messier, though.” And a little bigger, but it did house two people and all of Tony's crap-- including, for a little while, the little 'bot he had created. It had been destroyed by Obadiah when the man had discovered it, so Tony had rebuilt it (for a second time; Howard had also destroyed it, but when he was much, much younger) and hid it at Jarvis' while his boyfriend was off on business with Howard. It was now at the manor. The poor little guy had been through a lot of shit, but he still adored his daddy. 

Dum-E was its name. 

“Really?” The disbelief was was clear in Bruce's voice, even if he was still hidden by a wall. 

The billionaire leaned against the table, resting his chin in his palm. “Yeah. I don't need much. It's just me and Obie.” Obie wasn't particularly happy about their current living situation, of course. He wanted more space. More extravagance. More of all that Tony had tried to distance himself from. More of all that the Stark family was about. That meant Obadiah had already insisted they move into the manor; it was Tony's now, after all, and they “might as well put use to it.” 

There was a big difference from the Tony of the media and rumor mill, and the Tony of reality. Bruce was quickly learning that. It wasn't necessarily that he was confused by the difference, but it was-- strange. To have two different versions of the same person in his head. 

But he certainly liked the one in front of him. He set a duffel on the table; it had all the essential shit in it-- underwear and toothpaste and all that. After doing a quick once-over to make sure that everything was in order and nothing unnecessary was plugged up, he grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator. One, he set in front of Tony; the other, he cracked open and took a sip from. 

“Oh.” Tony blinked out a trance when the water bottle was placed in front of him. He picked it up and twisted the cap; the cool of it made him shiver, as he was already cold. “Thank you.” he said softly, and took a sip. 

“You said something about pizza?” 

“Oh, right! Yeah, let me order it, and we can pick it up on the way to the manor.” 

“I'm gonna run to the bathroom while you do that.” 

All he got in response was a nod, as the other student was already on the phone with a pizza place. 

~*~ 

One hour and forty five minutes later found Bruce driving up the long, winding, tree-lined drive-way to the Stark manor in Massachusetts. (There was one here, and one in New York; Tony now owned both.) 

Bruce gazed up at the tall building in awe as he parked out front, right near the widening steps that led to the front doors. They were made of dark wood, and had large silver knockers on the front. White columns lined the front porch. There were no rocking chairs or swings or benches or even tiny tables that Bruce never got the point of on the porch, which didn't help at all with the lack of a homely feeling to this place. It felt distinguished, noble, and detached. Not a place that a child should grow up. 

But what did he know about that?

“This is way more impressive than my apartment.” 

Tony shrugged and hoisted the pizzas onto the tips of his splayed fingers. His free hand pulled his backpack from the passenger floorboard and swung it over one shoulder. The keyring for the manor dangled from one splayed finger, underneath the pizza boxes. “Mine, too.” he agreed, and cast a small smile in the other man's direction as he closed the car door. 

Bruce locked the car doors before he started up the front steps with Tony. The inside of the place was even more amazing than the outside. Especially when one of the side rooms revealed a total entertainment system; and by total, he meant game consoles, stereo, huge TV, everything. 

The Starks knew how to live. 

Tony tossed his backpack on the floor by the couch and set the pizza boxes on the coffee table. Once that was done, he turned to Bruce and smiled. “So, what do you want to do first? I've got movies, games-- we could just listen to music and talk, if that's what you'd prefer.” 

“Uh--” Bruce looked around, unsure where to start. “You can offer some input, too, y'know.” 

The response made the billionaire smile. “I'll put in a movie while we eat.” 

They wound up watching some horror flick-- it was actually really good, which was surprising considering Hollywood's horror scene. Tony ate two slices, because he had permission from Bruce, but didn't dare eat anymore. Permission was always nice, and sometimes he got so desperate that he didn't care whether if came from Obadiah or someone else. But Obie would kill him if he found out he'd been gorging himself on junk food. He did allow himself a can of soda, so as to keep his sugar from dropping or some other such nonsense. Nonsense that would get him into trouble. 

It took one movie for Tony to wind up half in Bruce's arms. While the glasses-wearing student was unimpressed by the scares-- though he did admit they were better than any he'd ever seen before-- and tended to laugh at them more than anything, the billionaire didn't seem particularly fond of them. Meaning he was actually frightened by them, and inched closer to Bruce's side with every one. 

After one particular scare, he wound up hiding his face against Bruce's shoulder-- and Bruce didn't say anything about the muffled scream he heard and felt-- and remained their for the duration of the movie. 

“We didn't have to watch that, y'know.” Bruce pointed out as the credits rolled and ominous music filled the room. 

Tony took the chance to glance up. When he saw that the movie was over, he sat up more, but didn't pull entirely away from Bruce. He didn't want to. Not really. “I like horror movies.” 

“You hid half the time.” There was an amused tone to the other student's voice, and it made the young billionaire's cheeks flush with a pink rosy tint. This, of course, made him want to hide his face again, but he didn't; he merely stood up to grab the remote. 

“That means I can't like them?” 

“Well-- I mean, logically--” 

Tony rolled his eyes so hard that it hurt and tossed a game controller at Bruce-- who fumbled with it until it dropped onto the couch cushion beside him- before grabbing his own and dropping back down onto the couch. His legs fell open, heels of his Converse buried in the plush carpet. “Not everything is logical, Bruce. In fact, this whole fucking world is illogical. And we-- humans-- we're the most fucking illogical things living in it.” 

After that, Bruce shut up. Partially because he was pondering what Tony had said. Partially because he needed to be absolutely silent to focus on what he was doing in the video games. 

The billionaire was the exact opposite, however. He screamed at the screen, and wheezed orders at Bruce, and bounced around the couch-- not just his seat,-- and eventually had to take a break because he got so upset. 

“You really get into this stuff, don't you?” Bruce asked, amusement in his voice, as he set his game controller aside. 

Tony slid closer to the other man, reached around, and grabbed his soda off of the table. His chest was heaving with his breath; that was easy to see, even with the heavy hoodie on. “They're a nice escape from reality. I can pretend that I'm actually my character. Not,” and his voice dropped here into some impression of a snob, “Anthony Edward Stark.” 

Bruce frowned, and his head tilted just slightly to the side. “What's so wrong with being Tony?” 

The way Tony looked at him-- he wasn't sure if it was disbelief or hurt or regret or something else entirely. Maybe it was all of these things. “I think you're asking the entirely wrong question.” Without elaborating, he stood and walked to the shelf with all of the movies and video games. Bruce sat, dumbfounded, and just as he got his voice back, the billionaire turned back. “I'm pretty tired. You mind if we just watch movies now?” 

“Uh-- no, go ahead.” he responded, and watched as the younger man flipped through the titles. The chosen one was offered sheepishly. It was a romantic comedy. That brought a smile to his face. “Didn't peg you as a romcom guy.” 

This time, the blush went straight to ruby red, not bothering to take a pit stop at rosy pink. “Shut up--! I'll pick something else...” 

“No, no!” The last thing he wanted was for Tony to be disappointed. “If that's what you wanna watch, then that's what we'll watch.” 

“Are you sure...?” 

“I'm positive.” 

Tony turned away to hide a small smile, and once he had slipped the disk into the player, he returned to the couch. This time, he sat closer to Bruce. So close that he could feel every time the billionaire laughed, or sniffled to fight the fact that he was tearing up. So close that, part of the way through the movie, the young Stark let his head rest against Bruce's shoulder, and not long after, was fast asleep. 

Not that he noticed the last part until the movie was over and he turned to see what the other thought. The sight earned a small smile, and not wanting to awaken Tony-- he had been looking especially tired lately, and who could blame him?-- he just decided that they'd sleep there for the night. So, as carefully as possible, he adjusted their position so he was lying with his head on the arm rest and Tony's head on his chest. 

'Just friends...' he thought as he, too, drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a kitten. His name is Liho. He helped me write. However, I had to erase his contributions, as they were pure gibberish. He doesn't mind, though, because he gets to sleep with my boob as a pillow right now, anyway. 
> 
> Also, it's my birthday. Happy birthday to me. You get a chapter. You're welcome. :D


	6. Stark: In The Morning

Something was beeping. Something was also chirping. Something was also poking his cheek with cold metal. 

This did not make Bruce very happy. 

It was probably the least of his problems, but it was still pretty annoying. He was very particular about how he woke up, and this was not how he liked to be woken up. 

A voice mixed into the beeping and the chirping and the whirring. At first, he didn't recognize it; it was very quiet, and it seemed to a bit muffled. Like it was coming through a wall; but maybe a door was open, allowing more of the noise through than it would otherwise. The sound held a rhythmic ebb and flow; it didn't take very long for him to realize that the voice was singing. 

It took a bit longer for him to figure out who was singing, though. Finally, however, he remembered that he had fallen asleep at Tony's house last night. So it had to be Tony. It sounded like him, at least.

He cracked an eye open. 

The beeping, chirping creature was still in front of him. A single metal claw was in his face. It twisted slightly when his other eye opened, which he thought might be akin to a head tilt. The creature actually appeared to be a very simple robot, with a single arm and claw, and a rolling base. 

This time, when it chirped at him, it was more insistent. 

After a moment's hesitation, he sat up and gently patted at junction where the claw met the arm. “Hey, buddy.” 

It seemed that what he had done was right. As soon as the words left his mouth, the robot produced a soft whirring sound-- which, unless he was terribly mistaken, sounded excited-- and spun in small circles for a moment. It was adorable. Not to mention amazing. After all, it was like the tiny piece of technology could feel emotion elicited by social interactions. 

He had never seen something even similar to the creature that sat before him, chirping excitedly, before stepping into the Stark residence. 

That talk on the car made even more sense now. They weren't just theories or ideas. They had been put into practice and Tony knew how to create a different form of life and sentience. Sure, the physical form was a bit basic-- okay, it was very basic-- but it was still very impressive. 

Deciding he needed to speak to Tony about this, he stood from the couch and began to follow the soft sound of singing. The robot followed him for a moment before hurrying ahead; the chirping increased in frequency and volume as he exited the man-cave and rolled down the hall to a different open door. He arrived just in time to see the robot roll into Tony's legs. 

The billionaire looked down from what he was doing, smiled, and knelt down to gently cup the claw with one hand and brush his fingers at the base of it. “Hey, Dum-E. Did you miss Daddy?” The words were spoken so quietly that they were barely audible, and Bruce considered himself lucky to have caught them. 

Although now he was confused. Dum-E? Was that a cruel nickname or the robot's actual name? And why pick that, of all things, to call a robot who appeared to be capable of learning and intelligence? It was also kind of funny, if he was being completely honest, and he may have had to fight off a snicker or two. 

Meanwhile, the robot was whirring and beeping at his creator. When Tony didn't seem to get the importance, Dum-E rolled back and forth on the spot before looking towards Bruce. Which made Tony look towards Bruce. 

He could see the small amount of color that was there drain from the billionaire's face. The black eye stood out even more with his skin being paler than usual. Quickly, he stood from where he was kneeling and half-moved to stand in front of the robot. “Oh-- uh-- Hey. I didn't know you were up.” 

This was very odd, but perhaps Tony was just very protective and secretive about his projects. (Not that Bruce actually believed this, but he didn't think that he could stomach thinking about any of the alternatives.) “Dum-E woke me up.” he responded evenly, stepping further into the room. When the other man's shoulders tensed even more, however, he stopped. “He's pretty amazing, you know. It seems as if he knows exactly what's going on, and how to respond to it.” 

A tiny bit of the stress seemed to seep out of the Stark's stance. “You think so...?” 

A small smile tugged Bruce's lips up. “Well, yeah. I mean-- look at him.” They both took a moment to do just that. The small robot had caught Tony's t-shirt in his single claw and was insistently tugging at it. “He acts like he's your kid or something. Like he loves you and learns from you.” 

“How do you figure that?”

He snorted. “Little guy woke me up by poking me in the cheek and chirping at me. It sounds like something you would do.”

At that observation, Tony's pale cheeks gained a bit of color, and he turned back to cooking to hide it. “I made eggs. I tried omelets, but-- well, I have a lot of trouble with those. So I wound up just scrambling them.” He gestured to a plate nearby. “I also made chocolate chip pancakes... but most of them got burned, so there's only three left...” 

Bruce could have sworn that he saw Tony's cheeks light up pink, and he certainly sounded embarrassed enough to be blushing. “That's okay. It's enough for us, right? I'll have one, you'll have one, and then we'll split the last one.” 

That one definitely made the billionaire blush. But he pretended not to notice, because it was obvious that Tony didn't want it to be pointed out, if his turning his face away was any indication. 

“I mean, it's only fair.” he clarified, as Tony lifted the skillet from the stove and scraped the finished eggs onto a different plate. He set the skillet on a different eye so it could cool, then turned the stove off. His cheeks were no longer flushed when he turned around. 

“I-- guess you're right...” Tony responded, reaching up to scratch his right above his elbow. 

Thankfully, Dum-E broke the tension by wheeling in circles between them and whirring happily. His creator chuckled softly, then covered his mouth as if to hide the sound. Which, of course, made Bruce frown, because he didn't think any noise so beautiful should be stifled. But he didn't say anything, either, because Tony was in a relationship and, as he'd told Natasha, he wasn't a cheater, and he wasn't known for helping people cheat. 

Best not to even start heading down that road. 

“So, we should probably eat.” Bruce broke the near-silence. The robot was trying his hardest to fill it, but he decided the little guy needed some help-- help that he was all too eager to give.   
*********  
“Oh, right--!” Tony seemed frustrated as he bustled about, and it was too late for him to do anything when he realized that the other student was fixing his plate for him. 

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. And he wanted to know who had 'trained' Tony so well so that he could beat the absolute shit out of him. 

To calm himself, he took a few deep breaths, before stepping forward and gently taking the plate from him. It was already full, but he could take it to the bar and all. “Thank you.” he said, before picking up Tony's plate as well and carrying them both to the table. “Sit down. I'll get us something to drink.” 

“I-- uh--” Tony picked up a mug that he hadn't seen before. “I've got my coffee... There's more in the pot and orange juice in the fridge, though! I can get you some--” 

“No, go sit down.” Bruce made sure to keep his voice as calm and even as possible. 

And after a moment, the billionaire nodded. “Yeah, alright.” Slowly, he walked over to the table and sat down, but remained twisted around in his chair so that he could watch as the other man poured a cup of coffee for himself and then joined him. 

“You could have started eating.” 

“... Not without you. But-- I guess I can now.” Tentatively, he picked up his fork and poked at his eggs. 

“Yeah, you can now.” It was odd. But Bruce was quickly catching onto the fact that Tony had this-- thing with eating. Which also pissed him off, but it wasn't something he should bring up yet. He wanted the other man to trust him enough to bring his problems up to him. 

And maybe he eventually would. But for now, it was enough that Tony lifted a forkful of eggs and put it in his mouth. 

“So, I've got class at ten.” 

“... It's 10:15.” Tony looked upset when he pointed the time out. Most likely because he hadn't woken Bruce up in time. 

“Well fuck.” Inside, Bruce was, admittedly, a little panicked that he was missing class, but he never missed class, and this was for a good cause. 

This was for Tony. 

“If we leave now, I can get you there in half an hour...” Which was pretty much the end of class, but-- well, he felt awful. He should have been better than this. 

“No. You worked hard on the food. We'll eat, and then go. I can make it to my next class.” Bruce shrugged, made himself comfortable in the chair, and started eating. 

“Are you sure...?” 

“Positive.” 

After that, it was kind of quiet. He noticed how Tony mostly poked at his food. But he ate, so Bruce didn't say anything. 

It was towards the end of the meal that Tony spoke again. “I'll show you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth and change and everything. Then we can-- uh-- I'll take you to class.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“I'd ask if you wanted to hang out tonight, too, but, after this disaster--” 

“I'd love to.” Tony smiled slightly, and then he showed the other man to a spare bathroom before running up to his old room to take care of his own business. He didn't look in the mirror, because he hated what looked back. 

Obadiah had always insisted that he should be careful not to spend too long looking in the mirror, as it would make him as arrogant as people already thought he was-- and he wasn't much to look at, anyway. And of course Obadiah was right, because he was always right, and Tony was grateful that he still put up with his shit. 

No one else would. Not like Obie did. 

Not even Bruce. 

Who, by the way, looked gorgeous when they met in the man cave again. The purple button-up he was wearing-- definitely his color. Tony might have swooned a little bit. 

And Bruce definitely noticed a little bit. 

“So, I'll meet you by the car again?” Bruce asked, smiling at him. 

“Yeah. Around 4:30 okay? I gotta work on that play before Natasha rips me a new one.” 

Bruce laughed and nodded, because the young woman was so serious about her acting that she just might do that. “Sounds good. I'll study out on the lawn before then.” 

“Awesome.” 

This time, the drive was taken up by Tony's music, and Tony singing along, just quietly enough that he didn't think Bruce could hear, but Bruce totally could. And he sounded amazing. Not perfect, but perfectly imperfect. Like he felt the words in his very soul, even if he sometimes got a little bit pitchy. 

Bruce decided that he could listen to it all day. 

Or at least for the length of the car ride. The music continued to play even with the engine shut off, but Tony turned it down. “So, right here, 4:30.” 

“Right.” Bruce grabbed his bag, and nearly leaned over the console before he realized what he was doing. Instead, he smiled slightly, mentally shaking himself. No kissing; not dating. “Try to be careful, okay? No more bar fights. Wouldn't want to mess that beautiful face up beyond repair.” With that, he opened the door and slipped out. “See ya!” he called, and closed the door. 

Leaving behind a speechless, stunned, and possibly blushing under all that bruising-- okay, definitely blushing; the bits that weren't black and blue were bright hot rod red-- Tony Stark, who was trying to control the butterflies storming around in his stomach and the heart trying to flutter out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while. Because I'm lame and terrible and I got caught up with work. But then I stabbed myself at work so I've had some extra time off to hate myself. 
> 
> So I wrote a new chapter. 
> 
> It's another fluffy chapter. The next one, shit will really hit the fan. I promise. I've got at least part of it planned out. But I'm shit at planning ahead. 
> 
> Anyway. Hope you enjoyed this cute little chapter. 
> 
> I'm gonna fuck everything up next chapter. :D


	7. Butterflies With Broken Wings and Stars That Don't Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying out the Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco approach to titles. 
> 
> On an unrelated note, I am trash.

Classes were absolutely agonizing. They had never been so agonizing. But today, they went by in a slow blur. A blur that was much like what one would experience if a movie was being fast-forwarded. Except this day was slowed down to frames per week. 

Even lunch (“lunch” meaning everyone got together and nibbled on something small at about 2:30 because it had been too long since they’d last eaten but they weren’t exactly hungry either) was slow. Natasha was nowhere to be seen, so he assumed that she had captured Tony and was making him practice their scene. Which meant conversation was mostly taken up by Thor and his mythology, and Steve and Bucky and their football. 

Also Clint throwing French fries at people. But that wasn’t exactly conversation, was it? 

And Bruce—well, Bruce just stared at them, and poked his food without looking at it, and nodded at what he felt were appropriate times to do so. Which, honestly, wasn’t too different from what he usually did when they all ate together. 

His next class was also slow, despite that he usually enjoyed it rather well. He took notes, but he didn’t actually process any of the information. 

Studying on the lawn turned into absently staring at the words on the page until they blurred together, which turned to staring at the sky, which turned to maybe napping in the grass. 

Then something woke him up. How long he had been asleep, he didn’t know. And what woke him up, he didn’t know. Until someone leaned over him, red hair the only noticeable feature (considering her head was blocking the sun and he couldn’t really see her face.) 

“Nat?” Bruce sat up, because she gave him enough room to do that. She plopped down on the grass next to him. 

“Check your phone.” she told him quietly, resting her elbows on her bent up knees. 

He did so, and would have immediately jumped to his feet had she not grabbed hold of his sleeve. “Let go! I was supposed to meet Tony almost twenty minutes ago!” 

She shook her head. “It’s no use. Obadiah showed up and dragged him off before we could even finish working on our scene.” She huffed a breath. “Looked like he was going to break his fucking arm.” 

“And no one told me?” 

Her eyes narrowed at him. “What would you have done? Get into a fight. Upset Tony more. You would have only made it worse, and Tony would have been scared of you, too. Do you want that…?” 

His lips pursed, and he glared at her for a moment, but then he swallowed hard and sat down again. “No.” 

“Good. Because he needs someone, Bruce. Someone different.” She glanced over at him, but he didn’t seem inclined to respond, so they just sat in silence for a little while. In the cool grass with the warm sun filtering through the clouds and lighting up their skin. With the breeze whispering through their hair. 

Bruce thought he felt words shiver through him, carried on that breeze. 

“I always knew there was something up with that goddamn Obadiah. I don’t think anyone could deny it now.” He tapped his fingers against his elbow anxiously. 

“It’s gotten worse. I barely noticed it in the first weeks of the term. But right before his parents died, and ever since then—it’s more than just him looking pale or sick or tired. He’s shown up with more and more bruises, and he’s been limping, and—“ She frowned, because Natasha hadn’t had the best time of it, either. He parents had dropped off the face of the planet when she was young, so young that she didn’t even remember them. Her uncle had taken her in, but he was very cold, had a strict way about things. She received no affection. 

It hadn’t ruined her, as it had some people. She still felt strongly towards people, but only those she cared about; it seemed Tony was one of those that she had decided to keep her watchful, affectionate eye on. Possibly because Bruce cared for him. Possibly because she herself had come to care for him over the past weeks.

“We should call the cops.” Bruce concluded, upon hearing everything that she had to say. 

“Tony won’t say anything against Obadiah.” 

They both knew it was true. So they sat in silence again. 

~*~

After promising her that he would not go after Obadiah and Tony—after all, he didn’t even know whether they were at the manor or the apartment (and he didn’t know where the apartment was to begin with)—Natasha had let Bruce go home so that he could eat and study and get ready for bed. Like a normal college student. 

Except not really, because way too many college students stayed out late partying, no matter what day of the week it was. 

But Bruce wasn’t normal, and he had never been normal, even if he sometimes pretended to be normal. 

Ramen noodles were a college student’s best friend. At least they didn’t taste that bad. The bowl warmed his fingers as he sank down into the cushions of his couch. The TV was muted and texts and notes were strewn about on the coffee table in front of him. A mug of tea was nestled among the papers, somewhat cooled off since he’d made it first. For that very purpose, of course. 

Leaning forward, he scanned over the notes he’d been studying, his lips puckered to blow air over the steaming noodles. It was difficult to focus, what with Obadiah constantly sneaking into his thoughts, and worry for Tony constantly niggling at him, but he was trying to force his thoughts away from that. There was nothing he could do, and he needed to study for his test at the end of the week. 

Just needed to care a little less. Like usual. Like he always had. 

Why did Tony have to be an exception? 

His eyes narrowed at the words on the paper as he took a bite, admittedly unattractively slurping the noodles some. Focus focus focus… 

Fuck, it was so damn hard to focus! 

And then there came a knock at the door. 

Now, generally, he fucking hated knocks at the door anyway. It was always just people making nuisances of themselves, because no one that he knew came to see him unannounced. They knew he fucking hated it. 

But it was even worse tonight, because he was already in an awful mood to begin with. 

The soup in his bowl almost sloshed out when he set it none-too-gently on the coffee table. There was an unmistakable tenseness in his shoulder, and though he was unaware of it, he was holding his breath. Which was exactly the opposite of what he was supposed to be doing when faced with irritation, according to his counselor. 

But what the fuck ever. 

He flipped the lock with a twist of his wrist and jerked the door open with a bit more force than necessary. “Yeah?” he asked, before he even saw who was standing in his doorway. 

A bruised eye stared back at him for a moment before a busted lip twisted into a small smile. Even that was too much for it, and the skin split further, leaking red hot blood against pale skin. As if by second nature—as if took no thought at all—a pale pink tongue darted out to smear the blood away. 

Distractions… 

“Hey.” Tony’s voice sounded more strained than usual. Which was saying something, because he usually sounded like he’d swallowed a cheese grater. And he actually smelled like an ashtray in a seedy bar. Bruce could tell that, even from as far away as he was. 

But all he said in response was, “Hey.” 

“I’m sorry about today… Obadiah showed up and—“ 

“Nat told me.” He cut off, because he really didn’t want to hear about Obadiah any more than he had to. He was already on edge to begin with, and this would just make him feel even worse. 

“Oh.” Tony shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Raincheck…?” He didn’t expect an agreement to the offer; that much was obvious from the sound of his voice. 

A small smile softened Bruce’s features. This reminded him of their first meeting. “Yeah. Raincheck sounds good.” 

“So um—“ Tony pursed his lips for a moment, before his eyes flitted away. “I really hate to ask, because—well, you can probably imagine why. But—uhm—well, Obie doesn’t really like him, and he seems to like you, so I wondering, if maybe, you’d mind watching Dum-E for a few nights…?” He gestured around the door, and immediately, a tiny little thing wheeled into sight from around the door frame. 

It was the teeny tiny clawed ‘bot that had woken him earlier that morning. The teeny tiny ‘bot that acted more like a toddler than a robot. The teeny tiny ‘bot that actually did kind of fucking like. 

So how the fuck was he supposed to say no? 

“Yeah, he can stay for a couple’a nights.” He glanced down at the little robot again. “It’ll be fun.” 

“God, thank you.” The relief in Tony’s face and voice—it was way too much. Maybe he was just overdramatic, but Bruce didn’t think so. It was something more than that. And Bruce thought about that as Tony knelt down in front of the ‘bot and gently placed a hand on the little claw. “You’re gonna stay with Bruce for a little while, okay? I’m gonna come and get you and take you back home in a few days.” Once they figured out where they’d be staying, permanently… Obadiah wanted to stay in the manor, but Tony didn’t really… As he thought about this, he was quiet, his hand resting idly against the cool metal. His eyes took on a faraway look. 

But then he seemed to shake himself, and smiled fondly at the little creature. “Be good for Bruce, okay?” 

In response, the little ‘bot just whirred in what must have been excited agreement, before turning and wheeling quickly into the apartment—barely avoiding running into Bruce’s shin on the way in. 

Tony straightened up with barely a wince- but Bruce noticed anyway. “Thank you, so much—I’ll repay you, I promise.” 

Bruce just shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I like the little guy.” 

That faraway look returned, just briefly, and a ghost of a smile graced his features, before he stepped further back again. “I should get going…” He had snuck Dum-E out under the guise of going to get ingredients for dinner. Which was always simple, anyway, because he sucked at cooking, but Obadiah expected him to do so anyway. 

But either way, he was expected to cook, which had saved his ass in this case. Or, rather, Dum-E’s ass. 

“Right. Look, Tony—“ A small frown tugged Bruce’s lips down. “You could stay here tonight, too.” 

That made Tony’s beautiful little smile return, in a way that looked like it might have hurt his lips and eye, what with the pulling of skin and muscle. But even with the smile, the dark-haired engineering student shook his head. “I promised Obadiah that I’d cook dinner for him.” Well, it hadn’t exactly promised; it was just that it was something that as expected of him, so he really had no choice. He couldn’t upset Obadiah any further than he already had. 

Bruce frowned further, but he didn’t want to push the matter and risk scaring Tony off, so he just nodded. “Right. Well, then, just be careful, okay? Promise me you’ll stay safe?” 

A small laugh tinkled in the air, but it sounded like it hurt. “I will, I will. I’m just running to the store, and then going home. I’ll even text you when I get back to the manor, if it would make you feel better?” 

“… It would, actually, thank you.” 

Another small laugh, and then Tony did something that—well, pretty much shocked him silent. He leaned forward and kissed Bruce’s cheek, before turning abruptly and walking down the hall. “I’ll text you, then.” He called over his shoulder, without looking back. (Because he was blushing like mad.) 

Stunned, Bruce stood silently in the door, staring down the hall Tony had disappeared along. A bump against his leg had him looking down. Dum-E was staring up at him, and when he had garnered attention, he tilted his head in question. 

Sighing softly, he closed the door and knelt down, gently patting the little ‘bot on the claw. “That goddamn Obadiah—he’s not good for your daddy.” 

A small, sad little whirr was the only answer he got, and he was positive it was an agreement. It sent a chill down his spine to have it confirmed by someone who knew. And while others might not see Dum-E as a reliable source, he did. 

His appetite gone, he cleaned off the table and prepared for bed, then stared at the phone until Tony texted him about half past nine, assuring him that he’d made it home and he was sorry for taking so long but that everything was fine and he’d see him again soon. 

Bruce typed a reply—simple stuff, so that there was no way that Tony could know he was starting to really worry that something had happened—and then stared at the ceiling for two hours before finally falling asleep. 

This fucking sucked.


End file.
